After
by Socrates7727
Summary: After the war, Harry kept to himself. Everyone else went about their lives and moved forward but Harry just... couldn't. He hadn't expected Malfoy. When Draco shows up dirty and scarred, Harry isn't sure what makes him let the blond back into his life. He does, though. Drarry-ish, mentions of child abuse and torture. One-shot for now.
1. Chapter 1

AN I don't own HP or any of the characters! Angst, H/C, my thoughts on what happend after the war. Not cannon.

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After the war, Harry kept to himself. Ron and Hermione were happy together, and the Burrow didn't feel complete but it still hummed with love and life. He just couldn't bring himself to live there, though, and he didn't completely understand why. Ron hated that he wouldn't just come. Molly worried over him and sent package after package of homemade fudge, knitted sweaters, and everything she could think of that would make him feel like a part of the family-which he appreciated greatly. Hermione said it was because he didn't think he deserved that feeling.

Harry didn't really care, though. He appreciated the gesture, especially from Molly, and he joined them for dinner once a month but he couldn't ever make himself stay any longer. It wasn't like the house was even tainted or sad, he just couldn't do it. His apartment in muggle London was better because it felt more normal. Less conspicuous, less dangerous. He liked living alone, too, even if the silence was sometimes enough to suffocate him because this way, he told himself, he wasn't putting anyone else in danger.

Malfoy had certainly been a surprise. The blond had showed up on the steps outside his building, dressed in rags and covered in injuries, and Harry would have dismissed him as just another homeless man if he hadn't seen those eyes. Even if dried grime and blood caked the signature platinum blond hair, nothing could hide those eyes. Like rings of liquid silver, they pulsed and swirled with a cold kind of energy Harry hadn't felt in years-and it kind of scared him. He'd never seen Malfoy look so… humbled.

"Hey." The blond shivered, even as Harry acknowledged him, and he had to wonder how long he'd been sitting out there. It was the middle of winter which would normally be unforgiving but in Malfoy's condition? Why hadn't Draco cast a warming charm on his rags, though? Was he afraid of being tracked?

"Potter, sorry I didn't know where else to go." Draco gestured at his own appearance and then back down the street. "I don't know how muggles work. No one would take my money and I couldn't call the Knight Bus so I just kept walking. You were the only person I could think of to find." Harry felt like the breath had been knocked out of him, just at simply hearing the blond speak. It'd been years since he'd seen a Slytherin. Months since he'd seen another Hogwarts student, excluding Hermione and the Weasleys. He wasn't really sure what to do so he just buzzed himself into the lobby and held the door open for Draco-though why was he helping the prick?

Harry mumbled a disillusion charm as Draco stepped through the door. No use drawing unwanted attention by leading the bloody homeless man up to his apartment, right? That was what he told himself at least. Draco mumbled a thank you as he passed which Harry was sure he'd imagined but those silver eyes stopped and turned back to him, as if asking for direction. Right, Draco didn't know where he lived or how apartment buildings worked.

"Through here." The blond followed him wordlessly into the elevator and stayed silent, even as the doors closed and the car lurched. He looked uncomfortable and unsure, but stayed quiet. Draco didn't say a word, actually, until Harry had locked his apartment door behind them and muttered a silencing charm on the room.

"Why didn't you call the Knight Bus?" The normally confident and proud Malfoy stood uncertainly in the middle of the kitchen, bouncing from foot to foot as he shivered. It was disconcerting to see someone Harry had thought he knew so well look so… anxious. And that was the word, he decided. Because the way Draco's eyes darted around the room and the way he shifted his weight reminded Harry of a wild animal getting ready to run. Not argue, not posture or insult, just flat out run. For some reason, that thought didn't sit well in Harry's gut so he made them both a cup of tea and handed it to the man as if that might calm him down or anchor him somehow.

"Thanks." Harry nodded, and gestured for Draco to take a seat. The grime didn't bother him even if it clearly bothered Draco because he would just cast a cleaning spell the second they were done. He wanted answers, though, before he just let Draco into his life.

"You don't have your wand, do you?" Draco shook his head and stared at the tea like he was trying to channel Trelawny to predict his future. "Where is it?" If Draco's wand was just sitting somewhere in muggle London, Harry had no doubt in his mind the Ministry would be on them in a matter of minutes. He wanted to know what he was walking into, at least.

"Gone." Draco took another sip but, when Harry was clearly not satisfied, continued. "They broke it." Harry raised his own wand at Draco to perform a few healing and cleaning spells so they could keep talking without the blond dying, but Draco flinched so violently away that Harry almost dropped his cup. From the floor, those startled silver eyes blinked up at him. Just for a second, Harry saw nothing but pure terror in that normally arrogant face and he had to wonder what had happened to him. Why was he suddenly so afraid of a mere wand raise?

"Sorry." Harry shook his head that Draco didn't need to apologize, but the blond still looked ashamed. He ducked his head as he moved back to the couch and stayed stone still as Harry lifted his wand again and performed the charms. Draco was tense, though, and Harry could feel the anxiety from him.

"Are you still dark?" It was a harsh question, especially given the state Draco was in, but Harry had to ask it. He needed to know if this was just some ploy. Voldemort was dead but some of his followers-including Lucius Malfoy-were still hiding out and he had no doubt they would make another play like this. Draco, however, just shrugged and looked at his tea.

"I'm not sure anymore." As infuriating as that answer was, it was surprisingly honest as well. Ron or Hermione would have balked at that kind of uncertainty, but Harry understood it better than most people thought so he just nodded.

"Are you going to hurt me?" Immediately, Draco jumped to correct him as if Harry had burned the blond.

"No! No, I'm completely at your mercy and I won't try anything. I swear on Merlin's beard. I'll make a vow if that makes you feel better." Harry just shook his head. Maybe later, just for security, but right now Draco looked far too unsteady to do anything short of sleep. Plus, he didn't have a wand.

"You need to shower and you need to sleep. We can talk more later-don't think we're done, I want explanations-but I'm not going to be the one who pushes you to the brink of death. Bathroom is down the hall on the right. You can sleep in my bed for now, which is the second door on the left. Get some clothes from my dresser too."

When Draco stepped into the shower, the heat nearly burned him. He wished it would, actually, because then maybe he could regrow his skin and start over. The water swirling past his feet turned brown, then orange, and then finally clear as Draco reached unconsciously for the shampoo.

"Apricots… Really, Potter?" He laughed to himself, but it was short lived and cut off by another coughing fit. Laughing wasn't really his thing anymore. His shower was short, both because he didn't want to keep Harry waiting and because he didn't want to burden his current benefactor with any kind of cost-because Muggles charged money for every bloody thing! But it didn't matter, in the long run, because when he stepped out his hair was blond again and his skin was pale. Red, but pale.

"Hey, you in there?" Potter knocked on the door, but Draco didn't even think before opening it. The action was so instinctive-he was so used to people just barging in now, it didn't occur to him that he was wearing only a towel or that he and Harry were not friends. He just opened the door.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't think you grabbed any clothes so I thought…" He took the boxers and the pants, mumbling a thank you, but Harry had trailed off mid-sentences and was just staring at him. Those piercing green eyes were burning into his bare chest.

"Jesus Draco…" Why was Harry..? Oh. Draco felt his face flush when he realized Harry was staring at the scars, not just at him. He tried to turn away-to hide, to do _something _other than just stand there because he felt like he was going to throw up-but Harry caught his him by the wrist and held him. His stomach began to churn. Harry was staring at him, looking completely shocked, but Draco couldn't understand why. It wasn't like the savior of the entire wizarding world was completely scarless. Why did Harry care?

"Did I... do _that_?" Draco's brain must have glitched or something because he was sure he'd heard that wrong but Harry repeated it. "Did I do that to you, Draco?" The blond reeled. When would Harry have even have had the time to do something like this to him?

"When?" Harry gave him a look, as if to say _don't you remember_, but Draco clearly did not remember so he answered.

"In the bathrooms, with Snape…" Ah, the sectumsempra incident. Draco would have laughed if Harry hadn't looked so close to tears.

"No," Draco used the hand that wasn't being held hostage to point at a smaller, almost papercut-like scar hidden among the larger ones. "You did that." The relief that washed over Harry's face was almost comical. It was sadder, though, because Draco realized the man had actually thought he'd done this to him and had been feeling… guilty? But why would he care? Harry didn't give him time to ponder that, though, because he raised his free hand and gestured to the scars.

"Can I?" Draco wasn't even sure why Harry was bothering to ask permission to touch him. He was in the brunet's debt and it wasn't like he was in a position to say no to anything Harry asked of him-so he nodded. For once, the Gryffindor looked uncertain and almost scared, like Draco might panic or run the second their skin touched. His body wouldn't let him, though, even if he wanted to.

That was the thing about Draco. He could never run, the panic always cemented him to the floor like some kind of dark magic and he couldn't get away. His body would only let him stand there and take it. Even with Harry-who didn't seem like a threat, or want to cause him pain-Draco was just stuck there waiting.

A finger touched his chest. Slow, at first, but then Harry's entire palm was pressing down over his heart and Draco almost collapsed. All at once, Draco was overwhelmed with a rush of warmth that jolted through his body from the touch and it was almost enough to take him to his knees. Almost. It took all of his newfound strength not to just start bawling right there on the tile floor. Not because the brunet was pushing him or hurting him, but because it'd been almost five months since someone had touched him and Draco felt like he'd been thrown a life preserver. Finally, something grounded him amid the chaos of fear and pain that had managed to become his reality.

"Drake…" Harry didn't quite get the 'o' out but he didn't need to. His hand was moving, brushing over the ridges of scar tissue and thumbing at the particularly dark ones, and Draco wanted to scream. Some kind of energy thrashed wildly in his chest. For a second, he thought it might have been fear but he wasn't afraid-as shocking as that realization was. His body was still clinging to the sweet, unbelievable relief of finally feeling human again and he didn't have enough energy to be afraid. He wasn't afraid. Whatever it was, though, fought to make his body react and move. He couldn't tell if it wanted to be towards the touch, though, or away from it so he settled for staying still and letting his eyes close.

"What happened to you?" Draco didn't want to explain the whole thing or get into it right now. More than anything, he just wanted to eat something and maybe curl up in a blanket Harry had charmed for warmth and just breathe. But Harry was standing there, running his fingers over the sensitive scar tissue, and Draco couldn't ignore it.

"Punishment." Harry hissed as if that word physically hurt him, but was clearly waiting for more information. "I did something they didn't like." He could see the curiosity eating at the brunet, but Harry didn't ask. To his credit, all he did was trace the scars and occasionally swallow a little too hard like he had a lump in his throat-but he didn't ask or interrogate Draco.

"Can I hug you?" Chills ran down his spine but Draco wasn't sure anymore if it was the idea of Harry touching him, or the idea of being hugged. He owed Harry his life, though, so he nodded.

Instantly, Harry pulled him into the tightest hug Draco had ever experienced. Maybe he was just weak from not eating but he felt like Harry's muscles and strength could have strangled him with ease, and Draco could barely stop shaking enough to breathe. Slowly, hesitantly, he lifted his arms around Harry's neck and hugged him back. It felt… strange. Draco hadn't been hugged in years-since Blaise had said goodbye, before the final battle-and he didn't really remember what it was supposed to feel like. That felt like a lifetime ago. When Harry tangled a hand in his hair, though, Draco was sure that that was not normal-but he didn't mind it.

There was something intoxicating about the way Harry hugged him. It was sharp, and desperate, and it would have scared Draco if he hadn't understood that feeling so bloody well. Familiarity was familiarity, even if it came from a former nemesis, and Draco was not going to be the one to break their embrace because he understood that. The smell of apricots invaded his nose and Draco laughed, sparking a small coughing fit. Harry didn't let go of him, though. And for some reason, the longer he stayed like that, surrounded by warmth and security, the more he felt the walls begin to crumble. Tears slipped silently down his cheeks and into Harry's shirt. He wanted to scream at himself or run away or do anything but just stand there and be weak but he couldn't make himself break the hug.

"Who did this to you, Drake?" Maybe it was the nickname, or maybe it was the protectiveness in Harry's voice but Draco just shattered. It wasn't immediately visible, but he felt it. The tears fell faster. He couldn't breathe and he wanted to just disappear into the woodworks until whatever this was had passed but Harry kept holding him. Tight, against his chest, so Draco could listen to his steady heartbeat. When was the last time Draco had had something steady to lean on like this, let alone to hold him? He couldn't remember. But he was grateful nevertheless and he felt like he owed Harry something, so he steeled himself to answer the question.

"My mother." He hadn't meant to let his voice break over those syllables. It did, though, and Harry hugged him a little tighter. Slowly, the golden boy began to rub comforting little circles between his shoulder blades and if he'd done it even a second longer, Draco wouldn't have been focused enough to hear him speak.

"Your… mother?" Draco nodded. "Why?" That was the question, wasn't it? For someone who had grown up without parents, Draco found it hard to believe that Harry would understand someone like Narcissa. Hell, it was hard for anyone to understand who hadn't been there to watch her break.

"Because I killed someone." At that, Harry did stop. The Gryffindor reeled, and Draco could feel him starting to let go. His body screamed at the loss of contact and tried to lurch back into the warmth, to preserve some sliver of the comfort he'd been surrounded with, but he stopped himself. He didn't blame Harry-he'd just admitted to murder for Merlin's sake-but just as quickly the brunet pulled him back in.

Thank Merlin! Draco wasn't sure what he would have done if Harry had let go but he didn't want to find out. He could have pushed the man away and composed himself. He could have put up a mask. He could have even tried to start a fight or create distance between them because this felt too damn fragile to even let someone like him near it. But, honestly, Draco didn't really want to push him away. Both because the floor looked hard and unforgiving, and because Harry reeked of security and safety. Something Draco hadn't had in a very long time.

"Who." Harry wasn't asking anymore. He didn't threaten or tighten his grip too hard on Draco's shaky frame but there was steel in his voice. It was clear that this was not a question Draco would be able to dodge.

"Please don't…" He had to try, though, because his chest ached at the mere thought of admitting what he'd done. Harry would be disgusted. Draco could still feel the surge of power as he cast the killing curse, and he could still see the flash of green light. What an ironic color for the deadliest curse, he thought. He could still see his mother's face in his mind-the slow, gradual decline from disbelief to pain and then to fury. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face just shatter. Entire pieces of who Narcissa Malfoy was just disintegrated, leaving jagged edges and shards of vengeance in their place. If he let his mind wander for too long, he could still see the look on her face when she'd raised her wand at him, curses flying off her tongue.

_Crucio._

_Sectumsempra._

_Transmogrifio._

_Sectumsempra._

_Crucio._

_Sectumsempra._

_Avada keda-_

But then the screaming stopped. Draco was vaguely aware of someone else in the room trying to control her but that was all he needed. He reached for the piece of boot in the corner, and touched it. Immediately, the port key dropped him somewhere. Barely breathing, he tore it to shreds and managed a jumbled cry before someone noticed him. Then, it was all a blur until he woke up in a muggle hospital.

"Who did you kill, Draco." He'd let his mind wander again and Harry was still waiting for an answer. His mouth hesitated, though. He knew the second he said it Harry would throw him off faster than he could even blink. Honestly, he just wanted a few more seconds of comfort before he was at the end of this wand too.

"Draco. Who."

"My father."

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Thanks for reading! Please please please review and let me know if I should continue?


	2. Chapter 2

AN I do not own HP or any of the characters!

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It felt like years had passed in the few moments it took Harry to react. Draco felt everything from the little twitch in Harry's hands to the rhythm of his breathing against his chest. He was waiting for the wand. Harry should have been angry-he should have thrown him off the second he'd admitted to a crime, because nothing that tainted should ever touch something as pure as Harry Potter-but he didn't.

"Jesus, Drake…" As much as his body kept bracing and tensing, just waiting for the impact, Draco slowly began to understand that Harry wasn't angry. Why, though? He'd just admitted to killing his own father and if anything was enough to pull at Harry's heartstrings it should be a dead parent but he wasn't mad… He was crying. Terror flooded through the blond faster than a spell and he reeled back, trying to remember if Harry was the type to lash out with any emotion or just anger. Before he could even hit the floor, though, those arms were back.

"Hey, hey just breathe. I'm not going to hurt you, okay?" Draco hesitated, but relaxed his arm back into Harry's grip. "Good, okay. You're gonna be okay but you're hurt and Merlin you're cold… Can I please treat you?" He was prepared to say no. Honestly, he had the words on the tip of his tongue and he was ready to get out of there as fast as he could before Harry really did lose his temper, but he couldn't. One step and he was falling-collapsing.

"Hey. Look at me, okay? God, you're practically in pieces how the hell are you alive right now? Don't answer that, actually, just- We- Here." Finally, the dark-haired man seemed to give up and hoisted him into his arms. Harry carried him, bridal style, across the hall and Draco tried to pretend that he wasn't gripping at the man's shirt with white, child-like fists. But he was.

"Why are you so cold, Drake? I mean I know why because it's fucking freezing outside but how long were you out there?" Draco merely shrugged, his concept of time blurring as he felt Harry's comforter touch his skin. It was so, so soft… He could have melted into the material-and _Merlin_ the scent-but Harry gripped his hand and pulled him back into reality. Why, though?

"You don't need an anchor," Draco mumbled. "For healing spells." Harry chuckled at him, as if his knowledge was amusing, but continued to grip his hand as tight as humanly possible. Unless what Harry had planned for him wasn't healing. He started to struggle, to wiggle and pitch his body off the bed because he still had some semblance of a chance to escape, but Harry gently eased him back down.

"Relax. No, I don't need an anchor for pretty much any magic as long as I've done it before-but you do, genius. I don't know if you've noticed, but you can barely stand up and I need you conscious while I do this because healing was always your thing, not mine. These scars look mostly healed, should I be worrying about internal damage?" He shook his head, but his mind was caught up on the tone. That familiar sass was back in Harry's voice and, as much as Draco had expected it to annoy him, it was actually comforting. This was good-this was them.

"Potions were my thing, not healing." Harry rolled his eyes but kept the contact between them as he began to work a few wordless spells. When had the former Gryffindor gotten so skilled? Draco could remember a student who barely showed up for class, let alone paid attention, not a wizard who could effortlessly do nonverbal spells. Still, Harry smiled.

"Okay, you have a point. In that case, studying was more your thing so you're still a better bet for healing expertise than I am. God you were such a nerd… No one ever said that, of course, and not many people really even thought it because you were all attitude and dickery, but you were. You spent hours studying-maybe more so than Hermione-and that's on top of Quidditch. She hated it, you know, but you were so goddamn determined to best her in your end of year marks that I'm shocked you didn't throw yourself off the Astronomy tower."

"Almost did." The second he said it, Draco clamped his mouth shut and swore at himself internally. It was dead silent in the room, though, and Harry had very clearly heard him because the man paused his spellwork to stare.

"What?" Draco shook his head and stayed quiet, but he knew Harry had heard him. The Golden Boy seemed to think that healing him was the priority right now and, thankfully, dropped it but he knew that Harry wouldn't let it go. Harry had never let anything go in his life.

After the war, everything was different. Harry knew that-he did-but the sight of Draco Malfoy, asleep in his bed was intoxicating and his mind was still struggling to understand. He looked so… childlike. It was cute, in a weird way, and Harry caught himself reaching to smooth a few strands of blond hair. Why did he suddenly feel so damn protective of the blond? He couldn't help it, though, because the second he let his focus drift, he found himself on the edge of the bed, wordlessly running his hands over every inch of exposed skin.

Merlin… Harry hadn't even realized he was trying to heal the bruises until he watched them disappear. Most of Draco's skin still looked wrong-pale, but the wrong kind of pale. It didn't make sense-he knew that it didn't make sense-but maybe he was lonely, or maybe he still had a bit of that savior complex left from the war, and every muscle in his body ached to reach out.

He was still high on the rush of feeling the blond melt in his arms. No one ever leaned on him like that anymore, and definitely never with so much blind fucking faith. Maybe he missed that… Everyone had depended on him for so many years, but now they didn't need him. It was nice to finally breathe, of course, and to not feel the pressure of so many lives in his hands, but he did miss being needed. Even just in tiny, little ways.

Like the way that Draco was reaching for him in his sleep, like a child. The way Draco hummed into the pillow every time Harry touched his arm, anticipating the relief of a healing spell…

It was definitely unhealthy. And yet, Harry found himself repeating the action and hanging on, listening for that hum. He definitely had some underlying issues, but part of him jumped at the chance to take care of someone. Cooking meals, cleaning, even laundry-that was something so ingrained in his mind that he could just… do it. For most of his life, he'd hated keeping house but, now, he found himself missing it.

When Draco woke up in a bed, he knew something was wrong. It wasn't uncomfortable enough to be another Muggle shelter or a jail cell-he had experience with both, enough to know-but the comfort burned. What had he done? The room felt strangely familiar, and he could remember walking in of his own free will. Strange… He sat up carefully, wary of the sudden tightness of his skin and the aches in his spine, but his eyes drifted to one side of the room and he froze. The Hogwarts seal sat, woven into a tapestry and hanging from the wall.

Fuck.

He was in a wizard's house. Quickly, he tried to take stock of himself-he was clean, at last, and someone had magically healed at least some of his injuries-but why? Had they found him again? Before he could even begin to panic, he heard the very distinct sound of a door unlocking. Shit!

Head down, he slid so quickly to the floor that he got a head rush. Still, he managed to stagger into a kneeling position and he kept his eyes locked on the floor. The _last_ thing he needed right now was to anger whoever's debt he was in. If they'd found him again… He wasn't sure what they would do, but he knew that he was better off appeasing his newest master from the start. Maybe they wouldn't be as angry at him then?

Footsteps rattled through the floorboards and into his knees, getting closer by the second, and he tried desperately to keep the contents of his stomach in. Even if it was just stomach acid, it would not please his master to see a mess when they walked in. The door opened slowly, carefully, like the person thought he might be asleep or hiding somewhere, waiting to attack. Eyes down, he tried not to brace too obviously.

"Draco? Hey where are… What are you doing?" He knew the voice, but he couldn't remember where from so it only made his anxiety worse. Was it one of his mother's "friends"? His eyes burned, trying to cry, but he knew than to waste water with tears.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. You're safe. It's Harry, remember?" Draco did not remember, but Harry sounded close to tears and he wanted to die. If he'd made his master _that _unhappy, he was going to regret ever being born. Slowly, though, he saw Harry come into view. At first it was just his feet, bare and dark against the burgundy rug. The way his toes gripped the material was intriguing, but Draco kept his eyes down and waited for the impact. Harry was drawing it out.

Inch by inch, the man came into view and Draco realized with a jolt that Harry was kneeling next to him. Were they both indebted to the same person? He didn't understand but Harry, didn't touch him or invade his personal space, he just sat. The tray that he'd carried in sat on the nightstand-Draco had been afraid it was some kind of torture tool assortment, but the smell was clearly of food. A bribe? What would he have to do to get it?

"Do you want some water?" Draco shook his head almost immediately, very aware that the liquid would not come without a price. Unfortunately, the movement rattled in his skull like fanged frisbees. He collapsed forward, trying desperately to keep still, but something caught him. Fuck if Harry… But Harry wasn't touching him, really. He'd raised his arm up like some kind of support bar and Draco had latched onto it, but he hadn't actually reached for the blonde. Strange indeed.

"Hey, you aren't that steady still and we should probably get you back into bed. Can I help you up?" It was a genuine question, but Draco was much more focused on the bed issue. Harry wanted him back on the bed-why, though? To fuck him? Had they slept together? Was that the price for healing him?

"Price?" Harry frowned, and Draco immediately wanted to run but he knew he wouldn't get far enough to make it worth it. He felt the arm he was holding onto stiffen. Fuck. He'd said the wrong thing dammit! Now he was going-

"What do you mean price?" Harry's voice was low and dangerous, daring him to repeat himself, but Draco just shook his head. He wasn't that stupid anymore.

"Drake, there's no price. I know you're scared but I take care of you, remember? Here." Wood touched his hand. He flinched, but then he realized that Harry was holding his wand-backwards-with the handle offered to him. Harry was giving him his wand? What kind of twisted psychological game was this?

"I know it's probably been a while since you used a wand but I thought it might make you feel better. You don't have to, of course, but…" Draco took the wand, gripping the handle so hard that it shocked him. Damn wand. He could feel Harry's magic in the wood-deep, strong, and very distinctly _Harry_. Even now he knew it. After the final battle, Harry's magic had lingered in little tingling jolts for months after he'd gotten his wand back. He'd thought it was strong then, but Merlin he couldn't have even fathomed the feel of Harry's own wand in his palm.

"Here, you can use my arm if you want but I won't do anything else, okay?" He was standing, suddenly, and the blood thudding in his ears was nothing compared to the rush of realizing that he was actually on his feet. He'd expected Harry to guide him in a crawl, or an awkward shuffle on his knees, but he was standing.

Next to Harry.

Like an equal…

Slowly, Harry guided him to the edge of the bed. He sat, and let Harry prop up two pillows for him to lean back on but his eyes zeroed in on the tray of food. If Harry was in a generous mood, he should try to get all he could.

"It's all for you," Harry had caught him staring. "I wasn't sure what you liked but I figured soup was a safe bet. I got anxious while you were asleep so I chopped about a million different vegetables into teeny, tiny cubes for the soup, but you'll have to chew the chicken." Wait. Harry was just _giving_ him the food? For free? That didn't seem right and it felt like a trick but he was so, so hungry… He took the bowl from Harry's hands and let it rest in his lap. His hands shook too much to hold the bowl, but he managed a few bites before it hit him. _Merlin_… The mix of flavors and textures and warmth was exquisite. Draco couldn't remember ever tasting anything so delicious in his life-not even with his parents or as a child. _I chopped about a million vegetables._ Wait.

"You _made_ this?" His voice was so much better, even with just a few bites, but Harry flushed.

"Yeah, sorry I know it's not the best but I didn't want to go to the store in case you woke up or needed anything." Draco shook his head, though, and took another spoonful. He didn't believe it. Harry could cook, clearly, but he just couldn't get over the fact that Harry had _made_ him soup from scratch. Not out of a can, not off the floor or from the expired foods section of the trash-from scratch. Harry had used his own food, his own resources, and _Merlin_ how long had this taken him?

"It's amazing, thank you." He fought himself to keep in the 'sir' that his mouth wanted to add but Harry's smile calmed his anxiety. It was such a pure expression, like the praise had made his day.

"How long did this take?" The smile dwindled, but Harry's voice was still light when he replied-not at all angry.

"Oh, a good four hours probably, but I was trying to kill time. I could have used magic or even fewer vegetables. It calms me to cook, though, and to do it the Muggle way. I'm used to cooking for people." Draco nodded. He'd heard about Harry's Muggle family and, though most of it was rubbish, he could imagine the cooking being true. Clearly, Harry was good at it.

"Thank you." Harry nodded, but kept himself a good foot or two away as if Draco might bite him. Suddenly, he remembered the wand resting on the bed beside him.

"Here." Draco's fingers lingered on the wand, but he ultimately let it go. Harry couldn't help hoping that their fingers would brush together on accident. He missed the contact, honestly. Though Draco was clearly much more on edge than he'd been when he was exhausted or asleep, but Harry still hoped.

"Want some water? There's a fair amount in the soup if you don't, but I brought you a water bottle regardless." Draco accepted the bottle, but drank like he thought it would taken away at any moment. It hurt to watch. He was clearly so used to nothing, to having basic resources taken away with no warning.

"Do you remember talking to me last night?" Sharp, silver eyes settled on him. For the first time since school, Draco was starting to look like himself again. Though it was a relief to recognize him, Harry couldn't help being slightly disappointed.

"Yes, in the bathroom and in here. Why?" His face flushed, but he made himself continue. He had to.

"Can I touch you again?" Jesus, the immediate and gut wrenching fear in Draco's face was enough to make him want to throw up. "No, no not like that I just… Nevermind, forget I said anything." Slowly, Draco's face relaxed a bit. He ate the entire bowl of soup, gradually, and set it aside but neither of them spoke. Half of Harry ached to fill the silence, but the other half was terrified of seeing that fear again. Anything but that fear…

"Harry." He looked up so quickly that he almost hit his head on the bedpost, but Draco wasn't looking at him. For a second, Harry thought something was wrong. Until he saw a thin, shaky pale hand outstretched towards him. Was Draco offering…?

"You don't have to, Drake, I know you don't-"

"Just take my damn hand, Potter." Instantly, Draco seemed to realize what he'd said and he arched away like Harry might hit him. He took the hand, though, before Draco could have a full-blown panic attack. He held it gently, like Draco might shatter if he wasn't incredibly gentle, but the blond intertwined their fingers. It was addictive.

Before Harry even realized what he was doing, he'd laid down at the foot of the bed, their hands connected at the center. Since when was he so tired? Draco was, understandably, sinking back down into the pillows and blankets, but why did Harry feel like his limbs were full of cement? He'd been running on nothing but anxiety for hours, now.

Vaguely, he was aware of Draco running his thumb over the back of his hand in small, soothing circles. Why was Draco trying to comfort _him_, though? He wasn't the one who'd been tortured, he wasn't the one who'd been running for his life or living on the street in winter, and yet Draco was trying to make him relax or sleep.

Damn, he wanted to, though. He wanted to sleep for years and he wanted to hold Draco's hand until he could finally believe that the blond was okay.


End file.
